


Just One Night

by so_freaking_tired



Category: Resident Evil - All Media Types
Genre: Banter, Cleon, F/M, Fluff, Mild Smut, these kids
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-13
Updated: 2020-05-13
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:14:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24158689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/so_freaking_tired/pseuds/so_freaking_tired
Summary: Claire is pulled over by a cop she's never seen before and talks her way out of it by asking him out - but their first night together isn't what either of them were expecting.
Relationships: Leon S. Kennedy/Claire Redfield
Comments: 3
Kudos: 46





	Just One Night

**Author's Note:**

> hey everyone!  
> i love cleon, and i was just replaying re2 (because quarantine, ofc) and i just love them :,)  
> i wanted to write something with cute cleon banter and no angst because i like happy things. so this is going to be a short, multi-part story (maybe 2-3 chapters tops) about my two favs.  
> i hope you guys enjoy! please lmk in the comments if you like it! i loooove validation!  
> xx,  
> laura <3

Claire was coasting along at seventy miles per hour – _maybe_ seventy-five – when she saw blue and red flashing lights in the mirrors aside the handles of her motorcycle.

“Are you -” she began under her breath. She swore cops had some kind of unspoken vendetta against motorcycle drivers. She’d been pulled over _three times_ since she got her license last year. (Once was by Chris, as an extremely tired practical joke, which he brought up at every single Friday night when she would go over to his apartment and mooch on his takeout)

She took off her helmet and pulled her reddish-brown hair from the back of her jacket, letting it fall in waves over her shoulders. She was pouting; of course she was, because she’d seen a station wagon pass her moments before, and the stupid fucking cop still picked her.

Glancing in the mirror, she saw the kid get out of the driver’s seat. And that’s what he looked like: a kid. He was twenty, maybe twenty-one, with a baby-face and trendy haircut. _He looks like a fucking backstreet boy_ , she sniggered to herself, and then frowned because it was even worse to get pulled over by someone close to her age. It was embarrassing.

He approached slowly but with a confident stride. He looked her up and down as he stopped beside her and the corners of his lips turned up as if to say, _you know what you did._

“I’m not some delinquent, you know,” Claire began, staring forward. She refused to look him in the eye.

“I know ma’am,” he responded, and she scoffed at the title. “but you were pushing seventy-five and it’s a sixty zone-”

“So why didn’t you pull over the baby boomer who zoomed past me thirty seconds ago?” Claire snapped, finally looking up into his eyes. They were strikingly blue-grey, like a thin layer of mist over blue sky, and upon further inspection she decided he was pretty cute. He had a nice jawline and an adorably crooked nose, and his uniform fit him tightly around the arms.

She had to change her approach.

“I didn’t see it, no.” the cop said, and pulled out a pad of paper. Claire groaned.

“Please don’t give me a ticket,” she said, a bit more smoothly. She blinked her eyes like she would if she was asking Chris for money. “I got one just a month ago.”

“Would’ve thought you’d learn your lesson then.” He responded. He wasn’t being mean; there was humor in his eyes.

“I did!” she pressed on, “it’s just that you cops hate motorcycles.” He furrowed his brow. “Think about it. We’re small, loud… we stand out. It’s like how cops statistically pull over more red cars than other colors. It’s just psychology,” she said, finishing with a shrug.

“Hm. You’re pretty smart for a delinquent,” he joked, and Claire chuckled. “How do you know all that stuff about cops?”

“My brother is a cop,” she replied, “Chris Redfield.”

The cop’s eye’s widened ever-so slightly.

“You’re Chris Redfield’s sister?”

“The one and only.”

He shifted his weight. “Huh. I guess you two do look alike. But you’re pretty short for a Redfield.”

“Shut up,” she snapped, but smiled. “So, rookie, what’s your name? I haven’t seen you at any of the police force Christmas parties Chris takes me to.”

“Leon Kennedy.”

“Leon…” Claire tasted the name in her mouth, “that’s cute.”

He looked down and chuckled. “Flattery will get you nowhere, Redfield-”

“-Claire-”

“-Claire,” he repeated, “I still have to write you up.”

She groaned. “Please, Leon? I can barely afford rent as is, and Chis is really gonna be the one paying it, so do you really want him grumpy at work tomorrow?”

Leon pondered. Claire could see herself winning in his eyes. She smiled.

“Look, I’m just doing my job,” he finally said, “I still have to punish you somehow.”

 _Oh, I can think of a few ways you can punish me,_ Claire thought, but shook the thought out of her mind quickly. Instead, she took the pad of paper from his hand and pulled off a blank ticket, then flipped it over to the back. She took a pen from his belt and scribbled something down on it. She folded the note and placed it in the front pocket of his uniform.

“There,” Claire said. “That’s my number. My punishment is that I tolerate your Backstreet Boys hair for a night, and you get to take me to dinner. Your win, my loss.”

“I’m not sure that’s a loss for you.” Leon said, running a hand through his hair.

“Keep dreaming,” Claire said. “Thanks for letting me off.”

“Well, I kind of didn’t. But I suppose we made a fair trade.”

“Pleasure doing business with you.” She winked and slipped the helmet back on her head.

Leon shook his head at her and walked back to the cop car. Claire pretended to fiddle with the controls on her motorcycle for a moment to stare in her mirrors at his ass. He had a nice ass.


End file.
